The study room inside the old house was dimly lit. The oil lamp on the wooden table flickered, casting long shadows across the walls. The faint scent of dust and damp wood still lingered in the air, though much of the house had been repaired. Only the bedroom remained incomplete, its roof still half-open to the night sky.
Little Water closed the heavy wooden door behind him. The sound echoed through the old corridors. He carried one of the small cups of blood left by Qianya and set it carefully on the desk in the study room. The deep red liquid reflected the wavering light of the lamp.
He sat down, lifted the cup, and stared at it. For a long while, he examined the crimson surface as if it would reveal some hidden answer. Yet nothing changed. It was just blood—thick, rich, but no different than ordinary blood to his mortal eyes.
He leaned back into the chair, folding his arms. His plain features—those of a simple man in his twenties—remained calm, but within him, countless thoughts stirred.
> "My cultivation has reached the peak of the Qi Collector Stage. To break through, I need an element power… something to absorb, something to anchor my foundation. In this mortal realm, the elements here are weak—most are only ranked between one and six. But… what if I try something else? What if I make poison my second cultivation element?"
The thought circled in his mind. His original water element was far stronger—he knew it was at least rank seven or eight. It was pure, fluid, and flexible. But perhaps poison could open another path.
> "If I succeed, I'll wield something rare and dangerous. If I fail… then I can always erase it and return to my water element."
He gazed again at the three cups of blood. Each one glowed faintly under the lamplight, as though carrying an aura of danger.
> "One cup for herbs—to test a cure. One cup for fools, to experiment on poison's weakness and how to control it. And one cup… for me. For cultivation."
Little Water lifted the third cup slowly. The cool ceramic pressed against his fingers. His decision was made. He would walk the path of poison.
Without hesitation, he tilted his head back and drank. The blood slid down his throat, hot and metallic, thick as it reached his chest. Immediately, he felt it. The poison spread like fire, seeping into his heart.
His face remained calm, but inside, waves of agony surged. The poison was merciless—it sought to devour his core, to seep into his veins, to corrode every part of him.
Little Water clenched his fists, then closed his eyes.
> "No… I won't allow it. Water suppresses fire. Then let my water suppress poison as well."
He drew on his inner Qi, and streams of icy energy spread through his body. The water element flowed directly into his heart, lowering its temperature rapidly. Frost began to gather within him.
The poison slammed against the icy wall, furious and wild, but could not break through. His heart was freezing, wrapped in a layer of glacial defense. The poison gathered outside it, pressing harder, until it solidified—frozen into a cage of dark purple ice encasing his heart.
His breath grew heavy. His chest felt as if pierced by knives. Pain surged through him, yet he endured.
> "A cage… of poison."
The cage shimmered faintly with violet light, sinister yet strangely protective.
> "It's like a ticking bomb… but it shields my heart at the same time. So long as I keep control, it won't kill me."
His lips curled faintly into a smirk. His gamble was working.
Little Water then guided his Qi. To his surprise, the streams that flowed out of the cage were no longer blue—they were purple. A cold, venomous aura wrapped around his hands. His body trembled, but he forced himself to meditate.
The room grew silent, the only sound his slow, deliberate breaths.
And then—
A flash.
Deep inside, something awakened.
A ripple of power spread through him, and on the back of his right hand, a symbol appeared. A circle—hollow inside, yet brimming with purple light—shone faintly.
Little Water opened his eyes slightly. His disguise as a mortal remained intact, but the glowing symbol puzzled him.
> "What is this…? An art? A curse?"
He raised his hand instinctively. The moment he placed it against his chest, a surge of force exploded from within. His mind was dragged away. Memories not his own flooded in like a tidal wave.
His eyes rolled back. His body slumped against the table. The cup fell, spilling the last drops of blood across the floor.
And he fell—into memory.
---
A Child's Past
He stood in a field. The sun was warm. Laughter filled the air. A little girl, about ten years old, ran across the grass. She had bright eyes, her hair tied into two small knots. Around her, other children played with sticks and stones, pretending to be warriors.
Her father was a farmer, broad-shouldered and smiling. He worked the land with strong hands. Her mother sewed clothes inside their small wooden house, singing softly as she worked.
They were poor, but happy. On weekends, the family went fishing at the river. On clear nights, they had picnics under the stars. At home, a swing hung from a tree in the yard, where the little girl spent long afternoons dreaming.
But peace never lasts.
One day, chaos came.
At the border of the kingdom, war erupted. The city gates fell. Demonic beasts poured in—monstrous, snarling creatures with fangs and claws. They devoured villagers, tearing men and women apart.
The girl's father grabbed her hand and ran. Her mother followed, clutching her shawl. But one beast leapt upon them, its claws ripping across the father's back.
Blood splattered.
The man shoved his daughter forward. "Run! I'll hold it off!"
He picked up an iron rod and turned, shouting as he struck at the beast. His wife dragged the girl, stumbling toward the city gates.
But before they could reach safety, the earth itself shook.
A red light burst from the ground, shooting into the sky. Everyone—soldiers, beasts, peasants—turned their heads. The light coiled, shaped, grew… until it became a red dragon, roaring across the heavens.
The dragon descended with fury. Its breath of fire consumed everything—beasts, soldiers, even innocents.
The girl screamed as her mother was struck by flame. One moment she was holding her hand; the next, she was ashes falling in the wind.
Her father's dying cry echoed in the distance.
When the flames finally died, the once-lively village was nothing but a field of corpses. Blood soaked the soil. The girl knelt among the bodies, trembling, tears streaming down her cheeks. She was the only one alive.
Then came the Emperor.
Clad in royal robes, he walked with majesty. His Empress beside him, a woman of Phoenix blood, and another lady—young, beautiful, with features that faintly resembled Miss Ruyin in her youth.
The Emperor asked gently, "Where are your parents, child?"
The girl whispered, "Dead."
He sighed. "Come to the Imperial Palace. You will be treated as one of my family."
But the girl shook her head fiercely, sobbing. "Will it bring them back?"
The Emperor was silent. With a wave of his sleeve, he left, his Empress following. But the young lady knelt down, tears in her own eyes.
She cupped the girl's face. "I cannot bring your parents back. But… I can take care of you. For their sake. Come with me, child. One day, when you are grown, you can choose your own path. But until then, let me shelter you."
The girl stared at her, hesitating, then slowly nodded.
The lady smiled softly. "My name is Lan Ruyin. You may call me Miss Ruyin."
That girl—was Mei Qianya.
---
Time Passing
The memory shifted.
Qianya lived and worked at the Inn of the Beauty Pavilion with Miss Ruyin. She trained, served, and grew stronger. Along the way, she met another orphan—Yun Feixue. They became close friends, like sisters, both sworn to protect Miss Ruyin.
Years passed. When Qianya was fifteen and Feixue fourteen, Miss Ruyin brought a child home—a boy named Lan Zhihao. She declared him her son, and the girls treated him as their younger brother.
Later, Miss Ruyin grew pregnant with the Emperor's child, earning the title of Concubine and receiving ownership of the Beauty Pavilion.
Time blurred again.
One day, Miss Ruyin gave Qianya an order: to bring back a beggar from the temple. Confused and unwilling, Qianya protested.
"A beggar? He will be Zhihao's caretaker? Instructor? Why should I bring such a person?"
The memory froze at that moment.
---
Return to the Study
With a gasp, Little Water's eyes snapped open. He slumped against the table, sweat dripping down his forehead. The sunlight pierced through the cracks in the roof, painting the study room golden.
It was already morning.
The bloodstains on the floor had dried. The cup lay empty.
Little Water touched his chest, feeling the faint pulse of the poison cage still wrapped around his heart.
> "Qianya's past… Why did I see it? What ties me to her poison?"
He closed his eyes again, silent, thoughtful.
When he opened them, the morning sun was fully risen.
Little Water rose slowly, his plain face calm as ever.
And so another day began.
----To be Continued---